Beginning, Middle and End
by Mx4
Summary: A quick glimpse into the controlled chaos that is the mind of Clint Barton aka Hawkeye.


A/N: Congrats Avengers fans. The writings exploring the life and times of Mr. Clint Barton on this site have given me the inspiration to try my own hand at it. Hope this does justice to the man.

*Line Break*

When he first encounters her, it's under an obvious pseudonym; Oliver Ryan. Yes, he'd known it was a stupid name from the beginning, but as he'd been told and passed on in turn; either you find a way to amuse yourself or you stop fucking laughing altogether.

_and yeah chrisholm hadn't exactly been daisies sunshine rabbits or puppies as a commander or a mentor or a teacher or a anything really but he'd gotten the job done he'd taught the secrets to making virtually any shot drilled and pushed and shoved and broke and rebuilt until he was absolutely sure this pissant kid was worthy of being called by the title of killer_

But it's a target that turned out to have caught the attention of both S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Russian government. Would be kind of impressive if it wasn't such a guaranteed ticket to a dark place where no one can hear you scream in either this world or the next. She's obviously deadly, but alluring all the same, like watching a bonfire. Too close and it'll burn you something fierce, and yet somehow that same heat and warmth is the very thing that draws everything closer to it, whether lowly moth or cognitive human that knows it should know better.

_he sees her flashing in the light both artificial and lunar and can't help but think tiny dancer to himself even though he has never been much of an elton john fan more of a randy newman boy no matter what people have to say about their individual styles and he catches himself thinking that it's almost a shame she wasn't a dancer in this life since she would've enjoyed herself so much more but sela vie or whatever the hell the phrase he means to think of when people want to stop ruminating about might've beens should have happened why/why not me and all that speculative bullshit that psychics try to spout over 1-800 numbers that don't actually tell you anything a well paid yes man can't_

Her allure made it fairly obvious why she often kept her natural red hair in her various pseudonyms and false lives even if it made for one of the few identifying characteristics any organization as extensive as S.H.I.E.L.D had on her: The infamous Black Widow _capital letters certainly justified_ was good enough that it didn't matter if she was made. Either they'd underestimate her and play right into her hands, or they'd try to spin a web to trap her and would find out that they'd never match such a natural predator.

He was just another anonymous party guest, trying to get closer to the target to discuss business. _instead of the pleasurable escape she offered no matter how false the honeyed promises_ But he had to give it to her; she certainly knew how to appeal to her target far more than anyone else could. Personally, he'd probably never be able to pull of that kind of enticingly mysterious air. One that more or less begged people to try to solve it, much as a particularly complex case would so appeal to a certain literary detective. _what he had to entertain himself with more than just the sea shanties bobbi had insisted they learn after the lethal combination of muppets and tim curry got them stuck in both their heads for half a month and good mysteries always tickled that particular fancy of his when he wasn't in the mood to sing or hum_

He decides _mostly on a lark but also because it doesn't really matter who ultimately lures the guy away and takes care of business so to speak as long as the job gets done_ to play her unknowing back-up. To keep watch and make sure she has the time to do her work. And boy did she work. Past the guards, always keeping that confidence out front and center, an angler-fish with ludicrously blood colored hair. Much as that private reflection makes him laugh, he's never told her about that particular joke. Mostly because first off, she'd kill him if she ever knew he still laughed to himself every time he thought about it. And secondly, because it was just before he'd first 'officially' met her, during her attempts at self destruction via mission.

_though he sometimes wonders if she knows about the guy watching her on the security camera who suddenly found himself with a third eye socket in the middle of his forehead instead of sounding the alarm_

*Line Break*

He falls for her, even though it takes him several years of working with her to admit it, when he is finishing up the task of bringing her down. At the beginning, it's a mission like almost any other that he's been working for the still considered fledgling agency. He had to stop Agent Romanov from escaping or killing yet again. Col. Fury suspected that she'd know if she was being watched. But Barton knew that she didn't really mind the watching as much as the inaction, the waiting for the Sword of Damocles to fall.

_feeling the eyes of another upon the back of the neck feeling the hairs raise in an automatic response to look more intimidating or to alert the conscious mind to the danger the predator the watcher that is ready to destroy kill annihilate with but a single motion but is staying its hand for its own amusement purposes reasons_

If he waited long enough, she would probably snap the way she was going. And his theory proved true. He shadowed her at enough of a distance that she could make him, but not so close for her to confront him. He followed her across the ends of the earth as though she were the stag of Artemis, which in a way she was. A valuable, seemingly fragile yet extremely difficult to manage animal that was easily spooked but oh so different, one that had to be worn down so that there would be no need to slay so unique a creature. Finally, in a strange twist of fate, he confronts her in Sao Paolo, the very city her dossier says everything began for her.

_god the memories she must have of this place and what it means would drive most other people to tears or to drink the fact that she had the nerve to return herself to where the smoke fire brimstone end of the world occurred says something in and of itself about her though whether that something is good bad like everything else about the espionage community some odd shade of both yet neither is still in the air for debate in his mind_

Apparently she's fed up and tired of him following and shadowing her. She confronts him. He can see the exhaustion in her eyes, how his single minded pursuit has taken its toll on even her admittedly impressive resilience. They fight. It is a brutal affair, neither of them getting away unscathed. But her subconscious death wish and bone deep weariness have taken a toll on her and soon he has her at his mercy, his trademark bow abandoned in favor of a weapon she can understand, a standard k-bar combat knife. Her arms are pinned by one of his arrows that was trapped with an adhesive fluid that stuck them together. But even so, he has the knife pointed at the back of her head from behind her, a gun in his right hand that he knows she is aware of.

_her slouched shoulders give her away that simple human gesture making it all the easier for him to sympathize not pity never pity no because in work like theirs and especially to people like her pity is worse than death pity implies that there is no respect anymore represents a regression in standing in evaluation in mental capacity and most damning of all in all that it means to relate or understand another human being_

He asks her how red her ledger is. It's a question that has been asked of him numerous times before. She answers tonelessly that it's dripping. An answer he expected. He asks her if she wants to wipe it clean. She shrugs her shoulders, nodding her head slightly. He figures that's all he can expect from her at this stage. He tells her bluntly that no one can wipe their ledger clean. That all they can really do is try to atone for what they have done. He puts the knife away and the gun is dropped to the floor. She glances at him sharply as he steps into her peripheral vision to the right, toward the exit.

_who would have expected a fellow killer to sympathize with such a person as her she's wondering he can tell has made it his mission to know so that he may kill her good weapon breaker that he is but the problem is that one such as her with so much in common in similarity in mindset in everything he knows exactly how she arrived there and worse for his superiors he can put himself so easily in that position_

The people he answers to didn't really expect him to act human toward her, and neither did she. And to be frank, he really isn't sure if he's making the right decision himself. But if need be, he will resolve to kill her. One needn't be given endless chances to repent, at saying the right words and expecting it all to be okay. She gets the same shot he was given, but after that she was on her own.

As he begins to walk away without another word, she can't resist anymore. Asks why he's sparing her. He gives her the standard answer; that she's too valuable to kill, that it would be such a waste of talent. A bare note of incredulity in her voice, she asks if that's the case, than why isn't he telling her who is making the offer.

_she knows much of him after this long distance relationship of theirs he's sure but he's never been a blip on her her government her people or her superiors radar to be much of concern to anyone before he proved himself capable of killing one of the most notorious assassins in the business and in anyone less professional it might've stuck in their craw but it will only increase her need to know he hopes he prays he wishes he's absolutely positively sure_

His parthanian shot is that if she can't figure it out for herself than he had severely overestimated her capabilities and that it would be a waste to kill someone who's going to be dead within a week anyway because they need everything spelled out for them.

_though really it's because it was a personal offer not one made on behalf of fury or the organization itself but hopefully this means she'll spend her time trying to track him down and by the time that happens her killings will have ceased while she goes on this personal mission and he can convince commander cogburn a nickname he still isn't sure anyone has actually dared use to his face before that her seeking them out is a sign of her reformation like a good little stab happy protestant that found the need to kill things the right way this time around_

Even as he walks away he can hear the gears turning in her head and he smiles to himself, sure of her future presence even as he walks outside and never once looks back. That spark of defiance, that spirit that refused to quit even when the rest of her had given up. That is the reason he loves her so then and now, even after all that has come between them, both the smooth sailing and the rocky roads. It is why he holds onto his fools' hope of one day having her recognize and return these feelings he holds for her, hopes so much for her to see the same thing in him he saw within her, to find him worthy of being called a kindred spirit.

*Line Break*

All of that changes with one name however. One name that he'd heard but never really wanted or expected to be involved with.

Loki.

Trickster, Liar, Silver-tongue, Child of Frost, Giant Blood, Mischief Maker, Harbinger of Ragnarok and so many other titles that the old gods were always endowed with as recognition of their might. _not righteousness because that would imply a fairness that no deity has ever demonstratably proved in his sharp watching eyes_ And just as he never expects the elder brother to be something out of an Arnold Schwarzenegger surfer stereotype mash-up, he never expected to be under the direct control of one of the _pretty much literally _oldest tricksters in the books.

_though he never has and never wants to contemplate the possibility that all of what we've seen and thought has come before us may have some basis in reality because if it is true and there ultimately is an ultimate plan for humanity than he doubts virtually anyone he knows will actually be rewarded having worked to create a world they can never live in much less enjoy_

At first, all he remembers from Loki's control is the staff touching his chest. Remembering that before he can so much as flinch in reaction to the _cold cold christ why does it feel like a frickin stethoscope with the breath of jack frost fresh on it like the morning icicles on the goddamn storm drain that's ready to collapse under the combined weight_ action, his mind is taken over with a need to obey, with an unquestioned loyalty to the Asgardian representation of pure evil before him.

Too soon after Natasha's…unique attempt at therapy, the memories come back. And along with it, the wish that they didn't, that he could've remained blissfully ignorant to all that he'd done while having his out of mind experience.

He knows Thor still loves his brother even after everything that's happened, but he will never forgive Loki for what he tried to make him do. The worst part for him is that he knows exactly what Loki could've done differently to win. What he needed to do to really cause chaos. And despite reassurances even from Fury himself to the contrary, Clinton Francis Barton knows the truth of the matter. He knows that he didn't miss giving a headshot to Fury, shoot wildly at Hill or lose against Natasha because of his own attempts to fight the total control that smug greasy haired prick had on him.

No, he missed because ultimately Loki is a sadist more than he is a strategist; Vlad the Impaler playing a cheap imitation of Sun Tzu with limited success when one is feeling generous. His body shot to Fury? Would've grazed the old Cyclopes heart if he hadn't been wearing a vest. _would've left him in pain and bleeding out for the few minutes he was conscious before taking his time to die alone and buried beneath the collapse of his own hubris that the tesseract facility represented_ Hill was an attempt at intimidation, he could see the fear in her eyes every time the bullets came within an inch of taking her life. _that's right squeal little ant I want to see that recognition of my superiority my power my competence my hold over you you snot nosed childish pathetic cringing filthy excuse for a life form_ And Natasha? She held back against him. Hesitated in snapping his arm, in shattering his kneecap, in slamming his nose straight into his brain.

What's his excuse for not killing her? Well, a combination of two days worth of sleep deprivation _can't dream can't sleep can't rest can't can't can't can't can't or else sandman might come might come and take away the only control he knows_, constant movement _keep moving breathe in breathe out in out in out in out in out keep going keep going move your fat ass solider the world ain't gonna end itself while you're lazing around here_, ever-alert watchfulness that is normally associated with living within a warzone _damn damn damn can't let them keep him for long operation fuck their shit to hell and back is now in session the case of the loyal peons vs the insolent homo sapiens is now in session grandfather of the nifelheim presiding_ and trying to inflict pain instead of death make for an extremely awkward fighting style that he's not used to, not to mention a radical departure from his normal modus operandi.

_subject natasha romanoff aka black widow strengths close range combat primary weapon of choice electronic gloves known as widow bites known weaknesses favors legs when fighting due to multiple improperly healed injuries to arms and back when young tends to favor right side will have sentiment working against her suggested method of disposal act as though struggling with mind control attempt to keep out of arms length even pretend to be getting away from her when subject has caught up use concealed pistol to blow out one or both knee caps finish with double tap to head estimated chance of retaliatory injury 75 percent or higher estimated chance of mutual destruction none_

When she comes to him in the infirmary after he's recovering from her cognitive recalibration and she repeats her words of red ledgers from when they first met back to him, this is when he realizes that he will never be the one she gives her entire heart to. She trusts him certainly, has had to considering he's the only consistent partner she's had ever since he brought her in. And therein lies the rub; he's consistent. He's always there, he's always got her back, and because of the way he is, she's gone against one of the primary tenants of being a spy. Never keep to a pattern.

_patterns habits behaviors timetables schedules personal ticks whatever people call them make them easier for the enemy to know you make it simpler to predict you make it that much less of a hassle to control or kill you when it becomes necessary and no matter how much you try to avoid it it always becomes necessary before the end_

She's grown to rely on him in that way in her life, in having him be one of the few rocks of her life right now. If that got changed or threatened in anyway, it would completely throw her off kilter. That was how Loki managed to get to her, because she was starting to rely on him, to depend on his presence more than she knew she should've. That is why she speaks of being compromised but refuses to admit to more than that. Why she resorts to echoing the past, a time when things were relatively simpler for their relationship when things weren't quite so up in the air or messed up as they are now.

And so with a heavy heart, _sinking deeper and deeper as we speak_ he gives her the friendly comfort he knows she needs. He lets her rest her head on his shoulder, knowing with an absolute certainty _that hurts his idiot hopes so much_ that this is the closest he will ever get to that dream of being by her side and knowing that she knows her heart is first in his heart. After this, they'll go back to being reliable partners. Natasha will accept nothing more and nothing less from him.

When Loki leaves, he smiles. He smiles because the threat is over, he smiles because he has lived to regret the things he did under the Asgardian's mind control, and he smiles because his partner just whispered in his ear that now is his chance to stick that arrow in the arrogant would-be god's eye. He may never be her lover, he may never be the first in her heart, but considering how things could've been, he thinks things could've turned out so much worse than this. Besides, there's always tomorrow. And heck, maybe he'll be able to use those photos from Zimbabwe at the wedding ceremony even if it's not theirs.

*Line Break*

It's been some time since the first Avenger's mission. _been trying to forget about getting anywhere with natasha the ache gets easier to ignore even if it never goes away entirely_ He's on the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier for debriefing for another standard snatch n' grab when he hears something. He hears the faintest notes of hoisted colors lifting up to his perch above the walkway. He glances below to see none other than Maria Hill moving so purposefully toward the conference room he needs to be present in at 1420 hours. He thinks of Hill's professional demeanor, he thinks of her knowing that her job comes first, and more importantly, he thinks of how she probably doesn't feel much of anything at all for him. He drops down, as silent as can be, a playful smirk on his mouth. _well well what have we here a bit of a professional pirate in ye after all eh hill drink up me hearty yo ho_

__*Line Break*

A/N: Well, that's all I could think up for now. Whether or not that's the way the Black Widow actually feels and what may come in future because of it...I don't really know. You could let me know in your review, in your pms, or preferably, you could write a story in response. I'd like to think we're all reasonably imaginative people here. So let's hear it folks, one way or another, show what you think and let the creating commence!


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